At the bar

The Orchid Room is a collaborative writing project. Anyone can participate. Just a leave a comment like talking to the bartender or one of the performers. If you would like a night on stage you can audition anywhere.
This week the Orchid Room is proud to announce all new management.
And we are serving food prepared by
Wilbur Cox Jn. (Wil, to his mates.)
The wine is supplied by the wonderful folk at
The Grateful Palate.

Who

Some fluid jazz drifts out to the balcony
where he puts his arm around me
these is uncertain times, boy,
so we’ll revert to fundamental principles
and trust our instincts and he squeezes me
and breathes
you just sit there and play
as though in some performance of art
tatum if you can haha
I’ll go find a drummer she laughs
F., leave the pianoplayer alone
there are some gentlemen to see you,

Okey dokey. Are you supposed to be working again? I am just trying to
get this place clean and then eat and then have a beer, wiping tables. And then come
back with a fresh brain and you naked and saying
please please McPaulus, come over here so I can show you my new nipple clamps,
haha, just joking, this is the thing about erotica particularly on the
bdsm side it makes me laughguguahahaha, this is my problem not the
actors. The same thing happens when I go to a munch or a play party
or whatever you call them over here. I get in trouble for laughing at
the serious D’s in their costumes. When I talk about an exchange of
power which is what D/s is all about and say well that’s what it is in
vanilla sex too just on a more subtle scale, a dance of danger and
vulnerability, these socalled D’s look at me and think I’m mad, they
like their dressups, he said, slipping unnoticed into the room and
seeing her immediately, less thought and more instinct and then some
antennae invisible inside his brain connects and continues to track her presence,
snippets of conversation with others in contrasting costumes and
already knowing exactly who she is and what she wants and exactly
what she is prepared to sacrifice in order to get it, she could be
wearing white frills or dirty jeans, she could be dressed or
undressed, hunger is the best seasoning he thinks and suddenly he
turns to her for the first time and smiles and she smiles back, hello
,Mistress,

no eternal reward will forgive us now,
he screamed throwing the banana skin down
to the ground you know what’s coming next
haha, some wicked wind this way comes
dressed in silk perfume,

wasn’t me uh uh neither frankenstien
nor rubencrantz
some schlopenhaur says F.
slamming the glass down and it shatters,
where is she son, that was your job,
to keep her here inside,
she’s gone, boy, left me dead
a pirates heart on ebbing tide,

he looks down at the piano,
like a shatter of
pearls on burning deck,
shakes droplets from
his cuffs,
the cabin boys name was skipper,
play that one,

rattles of insects and goings on, Rose, is it rats stirring around the corpses under floor boards, or just the shuttling of roaches, something is astir, you will find me in the downstairs, there is a dripdrop pinebox there, cold but comfy, if you should choose to wake me, do it naked,

the smoke curls up and he throws the spit into the fire with a hiss and some apparition appears, some crone, Rose shuffling out of the dark, you again Rose, he says, where have we come to now, with your blind old father, whose turn is it today to offer a little hospitality to the wandering Jew. are we to be lamed wufniks again, again, not knowing, doomed to eternal ignorance of our true purpose,

let it rain, Rose, let it rain the fires of hell on them this time, there will be no mercy here,

The shadow raises his gloved hand and smashes the window, breaks in through the back, the club is empty, old disused, dusty, broken glass litters the floor and here and there are dark bloodlike stains, he shivers, gathers together some broken bits of furniture, tears an tatty old poster off the wall, ‘Tonight Live at the Orchid Room’ for kindling and lights a fire in the middle of the dance floor, he is shaking with cold and hunger,

yeah, might as well, not much happening, looking around at the crowd lost in ancient memories of some half lived half dreamt past blurred by whirling concoctions of various hue. Motive Force done fast, but just as Bootsy hit the first note F. stumbled, bleeding from the chest, gasping and collapsed by the piano, mouthing in a bloody whisper,
” crumbleduck, fu…